Cut the Rope

I've been working on a new song. And, by new, I mean I actually wrote a song. It's called "Cut the Rope" which is, in fact, the name of a game on my iphone, but it seemed the most appropriate since the topic is letting go... or better put, accepting you've been let go.

Maybe it's the looming horizon of motherhood, or my 30th birthday following shortly after, or admitting after 3 years, I am still hesitating, finding myself in moments where I'm retreating to comfortable misery instead of leaping ahead.

Thus, "Cut the Rope."

Thanks to the likes of Don and Peggy from Mad Men, and the ever illustrious George Lois, plus a well rounded reading list of everything from Rick Braggs "All Over but the Shoutin," to "Hunger Games," to "The Chosen," and a mix of fashion, design, and business magazines, I feel empowered... or...enlightened... or...

Well, I think I feel kinda kick ass.

Not because I've arrived at some proverbial point of reckoning. An old friend once told me "there's a never a point where you arrive naomi," and while she was correct, at the time what divided us was that I was making decisions that for me meant beginning something- I'd been running in circles for such a long time there was a period where not much made sense, least of all me leaving everything I knew and then crying about the friends I'd lost for the next 3 years.

For better or worse, friends are often not what or who you think they are.

This is the point in most Shakespeare plays where the fool is rambling, seemingly full of nonsensical jest, while the players and audience wonder, "what's the point?" If I could articulate that with less words, we would have arrived. Instead, I'm letting go of worrying over the tide of words, and if they are enough to wash the reader over with emotion, to draw out a response, or sigh, or burst of laughter, and am instead just writing.

Who cares if you read it? (I do, truth be told). But, I think I'm over if you like it or not. Maybe it's all the extra prego hormones, or the warm Austin breeze that never seems to fade, or just the lessons of time sinking deep, like the mud of the Mississippi River- but... meh. Like stepping over the poo a neighbor let their dog leave behind, I'm over it.

Over the drama. Living it, breathing it, chastising myself with it.

Ugh.

My mom used to make us look up and smile at the ceiling when we were being moody. For me, this usually increased my annoyance level, but now, it kinda makes sense. Sometimes I do it just to keep from crying, and the thought of her words ringing in my ears as truth all these years later is enough to make me laugh. Those in the professional field of knowing have made a factual discovery that it takes far less muscles to smile than it does to frown. Actually, I think the ratio is pretty severe.

Energy, even Anger, streamlined into a creative field or motion is kick ass. Like, superhero vs. common burglar kick ass. There's no fight, not even a chance of one.
Negative energy on the other hand, or a wayward temper, is explosive. It takes all the happy thoughts and plunges them into a field of zombies. Hungry zombies.

Gross.

It's much easier to simply look up and smile. Or take up yoga. Or sing.

Either way, life is filled with beauty and wonder that far surpasses our sorrow and pain. Living in the center of Grace and Love is what enables us to pass through the moments we didn't know there was strength to endure, and more importantly, thrive with new appreciation and gratitude for all that we have been given in the midst of them.

So, cut the rope, cut the crapp, and look up at the ceiling and smile my friends.